


Apparance

by lukegray (spacebarista)



Series: Une Vie Violente [3]
Category: The Following
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebarista/pseuds/lukegray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some strong friendships happen quickly, some take time and trust, and some take understanding that maybe someone isn't all that they seem. (Sequel to "La Garrotte" and "Le Voleur à la Tire".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apparance

**Author's Note:**

> Semi-Sequel to "La Garrotte" and "Le Voleur à la Tire". Written for a Following mini-bang on Tumblr. Basically my take on how Giselle and Luke became close. Mentions of child abuse abound. I love these two and I could write them forever honestly. Their friendship/crushes on each other are my goals. Maybe.

She’s a pickpocket when she meets him. When she meets them. Still hiding from her past and what had happened to her father. What she had done to her father. 

 

She doesn’t tell them that.

 

She tells them her name and where she’s from and how she got to Paris. He watches silently from the corner. His glare burns into her as she speaks with his mother and his brother. She tries to avoid looking at him, to ignore him. But it’s hard. He’s young with a cute face and crystal clear blue eyes. He looks far too predatory for someone his age.

 

She’s nervous he’ll somehow be able to tell what she’s hiding if their eyes meet. He already suspects her, she knows. He hasn’t stopped watching her since leaving her sad excuse for an apartment (compared to their hotel suite). She’s not been able to get in her bag to touch her garrotte, to remind herself it’s there, not while under his constant watchful gaze. He will be the one she has to worry about. The one whose trust will be a struggle to earn. If she even wants it. She has the trust of two of them, why need his?

 

Soon the food is cleared away and she is given some of the younger twin’s clothes to sleep in until they can shop for her. She is given the sofa, a large thing covered in pillows and blankets provided by hotel staff. It’s better than any bed she’s ever had. The others fade to bed and she’s left with her thoughts. She closes her eyes.

 

Stealing the rich woman’s wallet shouldn’t have gotten her here. It should have gotten her arrested. Or killed, if the elder twin had his way. 

 

But it didn’t.

 

It got her a second chance.

 

A new life.

 

A new family.

 

Something rustles beside her and her eyes snap open. 

 

The older twin leans over her, face blank but eyes attentive. She snaps up and he pulls back, the pair narrowly avoiding bumping heads. She sees a smirk grow on his face as she pulls the blanket up between them. It’s not much of a barrier, but it comforts her anyway. He sits on the coffee table, smirk still in place.

 

“Did I wake you, _Giselle_?” The way he hisses her name out, almost like a curse, makes the question insincere. She narrows her eyes.

 

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

 

“Of course not,” he crosses his arms. “You’re waiting for _us_ to so you can kill us in our sleep.” He leans in, his grin becoming more wolfish. “Like your dad, right?”

 

She tilts her head. She tries to keep her face blank, but he hears what he wants to hear in her silence, her hesitation. So she grins right back. It’s a mask at first. When his grin falters, hers becomes genuine.

 

“You don’t know anything, you idiot. Claiming to only makes you look more stupid.”

 

His smile fades completely. His brow furrows and anger burns fresh in his eyes. A growl rumbles in his chest. She doesn’t allow it to phase her, and his discomfort grows. He huffs and crosses his arms.

 

“I don’t trust you. I won’t trust you.” He shifted, settling in. “I’ll keep my eyes on you all night if I have to. I won’t let you hurt my family.”

 

She scoffs, rolling over and pulling the blanket over her shoulder. He won’t hurt her. Not when his mother and brother so far adore her. She senses he tries not to displease them, if only one of them. 

 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” She yawns, exaggerating for effect. “Do as you will. You’ll just continue to look foolish _and_ exhaust yourself.”

 

She hears him struggling. He wants to say something but he knows she’s bested him. She smiles to herself, closing her eyes once again.

 

“Goodnight, _Luke_.”

 

He sits close by for a very long while. She’s not truly sure how long. But when he’s gone, she finally lets herself shiver. There’s something about Luke that makes her almost regret toying with him, something dark and dangerous hidden beneath the surface. How far would she have to push him to see it come to light?

 

 

 

Two days later, they leave Paris behind. But not for America, not yet. Lily still has business in Europe. Giselle doesn’t mind. She’s never left France before. Leaving at all is a small gift. The four of them make their way to Denmark. Lily tells her over breakfast one morning that that is where she’s truly from. She has business to attend to there, something about her father’s estate.

 

Mark spends the train ride testing her English. It’s not bad, but he kindly makes it clear that she needs more lessons. She finds she enjoys the younger twin’s company. He’s intelligent, observant, and clever. He attaches himself to the usefulness of something, of someone, and builds on it. She could get along with him, surely, the more they learn of each other.

 

Luke, the older twin, continues to brood. He sits across from Giselle, staring out the window, glancing her way every few moments. He’d been _very_ disappointed by her, as he stayed up all night— _twice—_ to keep her from causing harm she didn’t intend to cause anyway. He’d had to double his espresso intake to keep alert on the train. Mark seemed concerned at first, but his _intimate_ knowledge of his brother’s thinking clearly erased all worries. She grins at him when he peeks at her once more. He starts and quickly averts his gaze to the scenery. It’s almost adorable.

 

Giselle has taken time to study the young man. He’s certainly attractive, he and his brother both. Mark is more the cute boy, the one girls her age are more inclined to speak to. He smiles easy and is ready to help when needed. He’s the boy who is attractive behind the barriers he’s built, behind his bangs and his loose, layered clothes. 

 

Luke… Luke is different. Luke is… _hot_. He’s the _other_ boy. The one that girls would giggle about behind their hands, under his knowing grin. He carries himself like he’s attractive and he _knows_ it. He pushes his hair away from his face and wears well-fitted clothing that just accentuates his figure. Strange for someone as young as he to already care so much about looking so good. She wonders what else he might do to keep him from acting as young as he is.

 

When they arrive in Copenhagen, Lily arranges for them to stay in her plush apartment. It has three bedrooms, instead of just two like in Paris. 

 

“No reason to have you sleep on a _sofa_ again, my dear,” the older woman assures her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “After where you were staying before, I want to make sure you experience true comfort.”

 

The rooms are almost _nicer_ than those in Paris. Giselle is sent to one of the smaller bedrooms, one with a wonderful view of the city. When she’s sure she’s alone, she allows herself to flop of the bed and giggle with girlish glee. The room is clean and safe and hers alone. 

 

She’s not been this… this _happy_ in years. All because of a bed and a new view. She’d never _imagined_ that she could escape that hovel she’d gotten herself with the last of her father’s loose money. Never imagined that she’d be safe again. Never imagined that someone would take her in. Give her another chance. There has to be a cost. There _has_ to be.

 

But Giselle can’t bring herself to care. Not when she has so much to be happy about. 

 

 

 

While Lily attends her meetings and auctions, the twins take her out to explore the city. Or… Mark takes her out, and Luke tags along. She’s deciding if it’s to keep an eye on her or to appease his younger brother. Probably both, as he spends most of the day trailing behind them looking bored. 

 

Mark shows her his favorite bookstore and the bakery with the _best_ sweet pastries and the park he likes to go to on nice days. He chatters in surprisingly fluent French. It’s sweet of him. It’s certainly easier on her than English. It gives them something in common. And it gives her more of a window into their lives.

 

They’re well travelled for sure. They clearly spend a _lot_ of time in Copenhagen, as well as Paris and _maybe_ Moscow or St. Petersburg. They speak at _least_ three languages, are very well educated, and have more money than most boys their age. Mark at least seems well rounded, in spite of it all. 

 

Luke… she’s still getting a read on him. 

 

He comes off as selfish, spoiled. Using his privilege and intellect—and _looks_ —to charm and manipulate. But around Mark… Something changes in him. At the rare times the two separate from her, he’s gentle. He _smiles_ and plays along and does things to make Mark smile with him. It’s… it’s _sweet_. She’s heard stories about twins being closer than normal siblings. Being in tune with each other. She’s caught them falling in step together more than once. She sees Luke focussing on making Mark happy. She wonders what Mark does for Luke.

 

She finds out soon enough.

 

They get lunch from a small but delicious smelling cafe and take it to a small park to eat. Giselle enjoys the scenery as she munches on her sandwich, watching fashionable ladies walk their dogs while boys play football further back. She catches Mark smiling at her, and grins back before she can even think to.

 

“What?”

 

The boy shakes his head. “Nothing important. How are you adjusting?”

 

“Adjusting?” She laughs and sips at her water. “To what?”

 

“You know… being one of us.”

 

Luke, long finished and lounging against Mark’s side, snorts and mumbles something just loud enough for her to hear. “ _She’s not one of us_.”

 

Mark glares at him, and Luke looks away with a huff. Mark turns to her, gentle smile back in place. She smiles back, picking at a piece of lettuce.

 

“I’ve not really… gotten time to figure it out yet but… so far?” She leans closer to him. “I like it.”

 

Mark smiles wider, nodding to himself. Luke simply rolls his eyes. Mark glances at him nervously before looking back at her.

 

“We’re adopted, too, you know.”

 

Luke’s head snaps to look in Mark’s direction, and he grabs at his brother’s thigh. His expression is a mixture of anger and wariness.

 

“Mark, don’t—”

 

Mark shoots Luke a glare of his own. It chills Giselle to see darkness shadow his sweet face. “ _Luke_.”

 

The older twin looks between them, unsure whether to let Mark proceed. Some sort of silent communication occurs, something only the two of them understand. Slowly, Luke pulls his hand back from Mark’s thigh, and looks away again. Giselle watches him for a moment longer before looking back at Mark. He smiles shyly at her.

 

“Our mother… our _birth_ mother, she died giving birth to us.” Luke shifts beside him, but says nothing. Mark continues. “She worked for mom, so mom took us in. Raised us like her own.”

 

Giselle nods, going over the information in her head. “That’s… very kind of her.”

 

“It was,” Mark agrees, balling up the paper his sandwich came in. “She didn’t have to. She was young, probably fresh out of college, I think.”

 

“Then why did she?”

 

Mark hesitates.

 

“Probably because her luck with men is shit.”

 

Mark’s head snaps this time, but Luke acts as if he hadn’t moved at all. 

 

“Luke…” Mark warns.

 

“What? We both know it.” Luke sighs and sits up, facing Giselle himself. “Mom can’t find a man good enough for her. Never could.”

 

“That’s not _it_. Think about it. Mom was like us—”

 

Luke scoffs. 

 

“I agree with Mark,” Giselle says softly. Luke’s eyes narrow.

 

“What do _you_ know, pickpocket?”

 

Mark glares at his brother again. “ _Luke_.”

 

“I know, I know. _Giselle_.” He looks at her expectantly, waving a hand. “Come on. Tell me your experienced insight.”

 

Giselle looks to Mark. “You say she was like you. An orphan?” Mark nods and her gaze flicks back to Luke. “She took the two of you in. The children of her employee. Orphans. She… she took _me_ in, a stranger, a thief, an _orphan_ … I think she wants a family. One of her own choosing.”

 

Luke doesn’t take his eyes off her. It’s uncomfortable, staring into his sharp blue eyes. Their color is as icy as the expression he gives her. But she’s not intimidated. Not by a long shot. He’s had _days_ to kill her. Days to harm her and scare her away. He’s done _nothing_. So she stares right back at him. Mark looks between them, wisely choosing to stay silent. She sees a smug grin on his face when he looks back at Luke.

 

Finally, the older twin huffs. He turns away, closes his eyes, and settles back against his brother.

 

“You go ahead and think that, if it makes you feel special.”

 

Mark’s expression already tells her she’s right anyway. Luke can whine and whine and whine.

 

Lily chose Giselle, too. Chose a thief and potential murderer.

 

Giselle _is_ special. 

 

 _Finally_. 

 

 

 

Another two days later, her bags are packed with more new clothes and a falsified passport, her garrotte hidden deep in her largest bag. In the morning, she’ll be on her way to America.

 

The twins had taken her shopping again. Lily thought it best to get whatever she wants while still in Europe, and she can get her necessities when they get her settled. 

 

“If you want any _real_ kind of fashion,” the woman had said while helping her brush her thick brown hair. “You’d be better off getting it here.”

 

She’d gotten enough clothes for a few outfits, as well as new suitcases, basic make-up, shoes, important toiletries, even a nice watch. Lily doesn’t know when she’ll be able to get her such luxuries once they settle in Stamford. Better to be prepared. 

 

Giselle can’t sleep. She’s too excited. Too nervous. She’s always wondered what America is like. She’s never left Europe, and hasn’t watched much television or film in the last few years. She can’t remember the last program she’d seen that featured the country. All she remembers is that the country is supposed to be good for those who hope for something better. 

 

Already, it’s living up to its promise.

 

She’s got a new family, a woman who cares for her and a brother who does too. She’s got a home, a warm bed to sleep in, no need to steal anymore. She’ll have food and lessons and everything she’s wanted for years.

 

There’s a catch. There has to be. 

 

She doesn’t care what it is.

 

Giselle starts at a sharp tap on the door to her room. She waits to see if it’s something falling, or just something outside her room. It happens again. She thinks she hears a sigh. Straightening in the bed, she clears her throat.

 

“Who is it?”

 

“It’s me. Luke. Can I come in?”

 

Giselle raises an eyebrow. Luke? _This_ late? _Alone_? She admits that if he is still planning to kill her he wouldn’t _announce_ himself. She glances down at herself. She’d bought a loose raglan shirt and capris to use as pajamas. They’re decent enough, don’t show anything she wouldn’t want him to see. She pulls her knees to her chest. and eyes the door.

 

“Yes. Come in.”

 

He stalks in slowly, taking in her packed bags and tousled bedding before looking at her. She takes the time to study him. His hair is loose, brushed to the side and falling about his eyes and ears. It’s… both cute and hot at once. His pajamas are simple, like hers: a white tee and dark pants. Comfortable and easy to move in. It’s the most relaxed she’d seen him, but he’s still wary, even with her curled up in her pajamas. He pauses at the edge of her bed with a sigh. She waits for him to speak.

 

“I’m not often _wrong_ ,” he starts. Giselle resists the urge to roll her eyes. Of _course_ he isn’t. He continues. “But… I _may_ have been wrong about you.”

 

Giselle makes a face of mock surprise, her hand flying to her heart. “Really? You _may_ have been? What brings on _this_ epiphany?”

 

He does roll his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Shut up. I’m trying to be nice here.”

 

“That constitutes as nice to you?”

 

Luke stares at her, then shrugs in concession. “I’m not often _nice_ either, if that helps.”

 

“Maybe a _little_.”

 

She _swears_ she sees the corners of his mouth quirk ever so slightly at that.

 

“I _may_ have been wrong about you. I’m not sure yet. I know you’re hiding something from us. And I’m sure it has to do with you and your father. How he died.”

 

Giselle doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. Again, he seems to find his own answer in her non-response. 

 

“I can’t, in good conscience, fully trust you until I know the truth. Especially with us leaving for home tomorrow. Who knows if you plan to kill us as soon as we’re home—”

 

“Which I don’t.”

 

Luke squints at her and continues. “But my mother likes you. Mark likes you. I also can’t, in good conscience, end you before we go.”

 

“As if you could.”

 

“I could. Easily.” He uncrosses his arms and leans down to bracket her between them. She barely flinches. She won’t in front of him. “But I won’t upset my brother.”

 

Giselle raises an eyebrow. “Just your brother?”

 

“I upset my mother enough, you’ll come to learn.” He says it in a way that comes off as even as it is bitter. She wonders just how upset about it he is. “But I refuse to let my brother down. And killing you might do that.”

 

“That must be so hard for you to admit.”

 

He doesn’t respond; he just fixes her with an icy stare. It wasn’t intimidating before, but with him so close, it becomes more so. She resists the urge to shift. Why did she have to pack her garrotte so well, left it so out of reach?

 

“What are you getting at, Luke? Honestly.”

 

“I’m not going to stop keeping an eye on you. I won’t tell them my suspicions unless i have cause to. If you threaten them, I will tell them. They have ways of finding the truth.” He grins wickedly then. It sends a chill down Giselle’s spine. “I’ll be happy to administer them myself, until you admit what I already know. But I’m willing to welcome you to our home, help feed you and teach you and train you, make _nice_ with you to please Mother and Mark… until you slip up, and I tell them what I think. We clear?”

 

Giselle tilts her head. _Train_ her? What does _that_ mean?

 

Luke nods and straightens, stalking back out the way he came. 

 

“What are you supposed to _train_ me in?”

 

She hears him laugh from the doorway.

 

“You have _no_ idea what you’re getting yourself into, _Giselle_.”

 

The boy closes the door, the click of it seemingly louder than it should be. His words bounce through her head as she lies back down, staring out the open window.

 

What _is_ she getting herself into?

 

 

 

The flight to New York City is uneventful. Giselle sits with Lily in first class; the twins sit across the aisle from them. Lily lets her have the window seat so she can watch the cities and ocean below them. The Grays sleep interchangeably, but she can’t bring herself to. She’s actually on her way to America. On her way to her new home. How could she sleep for a minute of it?

 

There is a car waiting for them when they arrive. They have a long drive to the estate in Connecticut, so Lily hired someone to drive them. She marvels at the skyscrapers of New York City, the people, the cars, the water, everything she can see. She catches the twins watching her. Mark is smiling, Luke just looks amused. 

 

The city and “suburbs” (the name Mark gives the towns are drastically different from _her_ suburbs) give way to more trees and highway. She watches all of these things whip by them. And when they finally arrive at the estate, she stares at it in disbelief. It’s huge and old and _beautiful_. Her tiny home in France could have fit in it two or three times. The lawn and gardens are extensive. She can see outbuildings in the trees, and a large garage off the driveway. It’s impressive for sure. She looks at Lily, her eyes wide.

 

“ _This_ is where you live?”

 

Lily smiles and drapes an arm around her shoulders.

 

“No, _ma cherie_. This is where _we_ live. Let’s get you up to your room, hmm? I’m sure you’re exhausted. You didn’t sleep a wink!”

 

Mark carries her bags up for her, and Lily helps her make the bed, promising to give her a tour once she’s slept a few hours. Giselle unpacks her clothes into a dresser, lays her jewelry and toiletries across the top of it. She changes into her pajamas and flops into her new bed with a smile on her face. 

 

She’s asleep before she knows it.

 

When she wakes, there’s a plate on her bedside table with a light sandwich and baked chunks of sweet potatoes. Beside the plate is a note, which reads in neat, slanted handwriting: “Welcome home, Giselle! Come down whenever you’re ready. There’s more if you’re hungry! -M”

 

Giselle smiles wider than she has in a long time. And the food is the best she’s had in even longer.

 

Home. She’s finally home.

 

 

 

It’s not long before she finds out what Luke had meant by “training” her. 

 

She’s taken to one of the outbuildings by Lily and the twins. It’s a gun range. She takes it all in with as blank a face as she can manage while Lily looks proudly on. Why would they _ever_ need a gun range? She doesn’t argue when they press a pistol into her hand and have her put on protective gear.

 

She only lands one shot. Lily just smiles and tells her she can try again tomorrow, there’s time to get better. Luke grins at her, smug.

 

The next day, she’s brought to an exercise room to work on her hand-to-hand combat. Mark and Luke demonstrate, but she can only practice with Luke. She’s noticed that Mark is averse to physical contact with anyone but Lily and Luke. She doesn’t ask, for Mark’s sake. He can tell her when he trusts her more. She won’t risk angering Luke asking him. The elder twin mocks her when she steps up to face him, pointing out her size compared to his and her lack of formal training. She just stares him down. 

 

Mark laughs and cheers when Giselle takes Luke down on her first try. She manages to take him down every time, despite her formal inexperience. He keeps trying to fake her, to catch her unawares and force her to tap out. But she doesn’t. It pisses Luke off, but he talks to her with a bit more respect for the rest of the session, cooperating with her and being constructive instead of rude for the first time since they met. Giselle thinks she’s found her niche.

 

The day after, they all have lessons. She sits in on Mark and Luke’s French and Russian lessons, helping their tutor with parts of the French. While the boys work on some sort of exercise, the tutor runs through her English and helps her refine it. They rejoin and she catches up on history and mathematic and other subjects. The tutor tells Lily that Giselle shows promise for someone who’d been out of schooling for so long.

 

He doesn’t understand how badly Giselle wants to stay. She’ll work as hard as she can to keep this going. And she does.

 

The routine keeps up. Twice a week they see the tutor, three times a week they train and practice at weaponry and combat. Sometimes they trade a day of training for lessons in strategy. On the weekends they travel to New York or the twins take her out to see more of Stamford or to a movie to test her English. Many days they stay home and relax, Mark and Giselle reading in the library, and Luke loitering with them or off on his own. 

 

Giselle doesn’t complain about any of it. She doesn’t _question_ any of it. It’s interesting. It’s engaging. She still isn’t sure what Lily is planning for them. What she’s training them for. Luke and Mark surely know at least something about it. They both seem on different levels pleased that she’s playing along, in any case. Luke still mocks her when he can, when she’s wrong or slips up in some way of thinking or action. But he also talks to her civilly, and even helps her.

 

He’s keeping his promise.

 

Her garrotte is still hidden well under her bed.

 

 

 

Time passes. Giselle’s seventeenth birthday comes and goes. She gets a gift from each of her new family members: from Lily, an Eiffel Tower statuette for her room, to remember home; from Mark, books in both French and English, mostly fiction, but also a history book and a cookbook filled with French recipes (he plans on teaching her to cook on the weekends); from Luke, a set of knives of various kinds (he plans on focusing on knife defense now that she’s as good as he is at hand-to-hand combat). It’s the best birthday she’s had in years, and she finds herself struggling not to tear up. It’s ridiculous.

 

All of the lessons and training have toughened her up even more. She’s gained more muscle, and can speak English as well as any American, albeit heavily accented. She trains herself to be less open about her emotions, but sometimes she catches herself smiling at something she doesn’t want to or crying about something she’s remembered of her mother. She’s getting better. It was hard to hold back when being treated lovingly again. She catches Luke giving her a knowing look after she pretends to itch her eye. He’s kind enough to say nothing. It is her birthday after all.

 

Many nights she wanders by Lily’s office and hears her watching some sort of news story about a trial. Or even the trial itself. She gathers that some man is on trial for multiple murders. She tries to hear more, but Lily always hears something and switches to something else. Sometimes, Luke watches with her, commenting on various things. Those are the nights she can hear more.

 

The man’s name is Joe Carroll, and he’s going to jail for life.

 

 

 

Time keeps moving. The twins turn sixteen and Giselle gets them both gifts as they did for her. For Mark, a book on crime scene investigation and a few true crimes. For Luke, a new watch. It came with a matching necklace and she rolls her eyes as he teases her over it. But he seems to like them all the same, even putting the watch on in front of her and seeing how it looked in the light. 

 

The twins, who had been about her height when they’d met, are taller than her now, and have gained muscles of their own. Mark still looks adorable, like a boy next door. He keeps his boyish mop cut and all his layers. But when he dresses to train with them, it’s easy to see he’s more of a man. Luke looks more predatory, more… _sexy_. He’s still insufferable, though. He takes pleasure in training with her without a shirt on, walking with his chest puffed out and his shoulders back. He just gets more smug as the days go by.

 

Lily is planning something. She shuts herself in her office when she’s home, and calls the twins in every once in a while. Never Giselle. In their strategy sessions, Luke and Mark break off on their own, noting and mapping and looking at her while speaking in hushed tones. For the first time since moving to Stamford, she feels like an outsider. It hurts. She lays awake in bed staring at the wall, worried about what this all means for her. But outside these sessions, they treat her just the same. Luke watches her more closely, but she takes it as part of his promise to her.

 

Until she walks into her room after another partially successful cooking lesson with Mark to find Luke sitting on her bed.

 

Studying her garrotte.

 

Giselle freezes in the door. Luke glances up at her. A self-satisfied grin grows slow across his face. He holds it up.

 

“What’s this, Giselle?”

 

Giselle dives at him, reaching for the weapon. Luke laughs jumps from the bed, holding it out of reach. She goes to hit him, and he easily blocks it.

 

“Give it back, Luke!”

 

She reaches for it again and he whirls away from her. 

 

“Is this what you killed your father with, Giselle? Did you squeeze the life out of him with this old thing? Watch him die with a smile on your face?”

 

Giselle lands a punch to his shoulder, but he doesn’t let it go. “Give it _back_!”

 

“Why, so you can kill my family? Please.” He dances out of reach again, laughing. “Come on, Giselle. Just say it. I bet it will feel _so_ good to tell the truth.” He dodges another punch. “Say it. Say you did it.”

 

Anger rises up in her. Why can’t he let it _go_ and give her back the only thing she has left? Why does he have to do this? She reaches again and misses. She growls and speaks before she can stop.

 

“ _Fine!_ I did it, okay? I _killed_ my father with the garrotte. I killed him and _ran_. Are you _fucking_ happy?!”

 

Luke’s smile fades into an expression of pure shock. Giselle would freeze herself, if she wasn’t breathing so heavily, glaring at him, wishing looks _could_ kill. The only sound in the room is her breathing. Until Luke cracks. His smile grows again, and he laughs loudly, almost hysterically. 

 

“Oh my _God_ , so I _was_ right?!” He laughs again. Giselle wilts, her anger fading. What has she _done_? Luke wipes a tear from his eye. “You _are_ as bad as I thought!”

 

Giselle says nothing. Shame replaces her anger. Shame and guilt and weariness. Luke ignores it.

 

“Wooo. Wow. I, I came here to give you a message and instead I was given a gift.” He chuckles, finally calming. 

 

A message? Giselle watches him. It’s over. He’ll tell Lily and she won’t trust her and Giselle will be out on the streets again. No family. No home. No love. Hell, she might as well pack her bags now. But she’s curious.

 

“What’s the message, Luke?” It comes out as an exhausted sigh. She’s lost and she knows it.

 

Lukes sighs himself and grins at her. “We’re finally going to put all your training to good use. And what luck!” He tosses her the garrotte, finally. She catches it and clutches it to her chest, forcing herself to meet his eyes. He still looks pleased. “You’re already experienced. This should be a cakewalk.”

 

He stalks out of her room, waving over his shoulder. The light reflects off his watch. “We leave after lunch. Just you, me, and Mark. This will be so much fun!” 

 

He laughs as he shuts the door behind him. 

 

Giselle sinks to sit on her bed, still holding tight to her garrotte. Fun for _him_ maybe. He’ll use this. As soon as she does what Lily wants, he’ll tell her. He’ll tell her and she’ll lose everything she’s won. 

 

Something drips on her hand. She blinks to focus her eyes and more drips down. She’s crying. Hell, she’s even lost her training. He’s going to take everything from her. She _knows_ it.

 

Just like she knows what she’s been trained for, finally.

 

Lily’s been training her to kill.

 

 

 

They pull up to the man’s house just after eleven. He lives in the middle of nowhere in upstate New York. It had taken most of the day to drive there. They spent two hours getting set up in a motel two towns over. Mark will stay there, someone has to be available for Lily to check in with. It’s Giselle’s test anyway. And Luke would never let Giselle be alone with him in a car. Not any more. 

 

Luke hasn’t said anything to her about it, but he’s been making faces at her when Mark isn’t looking. Smug grins, mostly. Knowing smug grins. She’s done her best to ignore him. It’s all she can do. But once they get in the car, taking knives and a burner cell, he’s all business. Giselle had memorized how to get to the man’s house from their motel on the internet at a library they’d stopped at on the way. They can’t be traced if they’re going to pull this off. Luke simply nods and obeys as she rattles off the turns.

 

There’s one light on in the house. Maybe a TV, too. Giselle and Luke watch the house in silence. There’s no noticeable movement. Not that it matters. Their plan will get him up for sure. Luke glances at her, looking her up and down. 

 

“You ready for this?”

 

Giselle looks up at the house. Lily had told her who the owner is. He’s a former ex of hers, and, according to Lily, a particularly nasty character named Frank. He was creepy, violent, and had a very specific attraction to foreign women. Which explained Lily. But he knew things about them, things that could ruin any plans in the future. So he has to go.

 

Giselle has no connection to him. An emotionless kill, according to Luke. So she was chosen to do the act itself. Luke is her backup; he’ll follow close behind in case anything goes wrong. She hopes nothing will. 

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

He nods, handing her one of the knives he’d given her. “I’ll be right behind you. Not that you’ll need it. You’ve done this before, after all.”

 

Giselle says nothing. She takes the knife and climbs out of the car, putting it in the pocket of her black hoodie. She keeps her breathing even as she approaches the house, watching it fog before her in the cold night air. She distracts herself by tugging her gloves on. She has to stay calm, she can’t give herself away. The whole thing will be for naught if he figures her out. 

 

The lawn is unkept. Weeds sprout up everywhere and the grass grows past her ankles. Already she dislikes this “Frank”. She wonders what more she’ll find inside. She hears the muffled sound of a TV inside. She takes a quick glance back at Luke in the car. Even after everything, his threats, his jokes, his knowing… his presence is a comfort to her. She’s not alone in this. He won’t want to fail either, and won’t do anything that will get Giselle hurt if it will disappoint Lily. 

 

She takes a deep breath and knocks loudly on the door. Muffled cursing, louder then the TV filters out to her. She doesn’t look at the car. As far as anyone is concerned, it’s just her at the door, looking for help. Despite his loud objections, the man answers the door fairly quickly.

 

He’s as unkempt as his lawn. His hair is greasy and hangs in his face. His shirt and sweatpants are stained with God knows what. He’s unshaven, and squints at her in the bright porch light.

 

“It’s late,” he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the hell do you want?”

 

Giselle doesn’t miss a beat. She smiles as sweetly as she can at him. “I’m so sorry to bother you, sir. It’s just…” she pauses, looking down the road they came in on. “My car broke down just a bit away, and I was wondering if…” She looks back at him through her eyelashes. “Could I maybe use your phone to call my mom?”

 

The man blinks. For a second, Giselle fears he won’t let her in. That he’ll shut the door and force her somewhere else. His eyes rove over her. It’s uncomfortable, strange. Lily hadn’t really told her what to expect, behavior wise. Just that a plan like this would take him by surprise. Give her a perfect window. He grins, slowly. It’s eerie, and she suppresses a shiver. 

 

“Sure thing,” he singsongs, turning back into the house. “Come on in and I’ll find the cordless.”

 

Frank wanders off, and Giselle follows, closing the door partway, so Luke can get in if needed. The inside of the home is as filthy as she’d imagined. Food garbage litters almost every flat surface in the living room. It smells dank and almost rotten. Papers practically fall off a side table, and the old TV screen is covered in a layer of dust. How did meticulously tidy Lily ever date this man?

 

“Sorry,” he calls, coming into the living room and moving the papers on the table around. “I’m having trouble finding the damn thing. I can never seem to put it back…”

 

“It’s all right.”

 

Giselle fiddles with her hoodie. Frank doesn’t take his eyes off her for long. There’s something in his gaze that nags at her. She wants to get out of it. She wants the moment to come so she can kill him and get it over with. She misses the chill of the outside and the memory of comfort. He smiles at her again and looks down once more. He grins widely and raises the phone above his head.

 

“A-ha! Here it is!” 

 

Giselle smiles good-naturedly at him. She’s surprised she can manage it. He crosses the room and stops a little too close to her. He holds the phone out, leaving her with less room to grip it. She continues to smile and takes it; it’s difficult, with her faux leather winter gloves and barely any phone to grab, but she manages it. She’s so close. She turns away from Frank slightly, giving herself some space. Quickly, she dials the number of Luke’s burner phone and and waits for him to pick up.

 

He pauses before speaking. “Hey.”

 

Giselle speaks in rapid French. She can still feel his eyes on her, trying to burn through her clothes. “ _Hey. I’m inside. No chance yet.”_

 

“Think you’ll get one soon?”

 

“ _Probably, while I’m waiting for ‘maman’. I’ll keep you on the line. You’ll hear when.”_

 

“Okay. I’ll step out. Good luck.”

 

“Ugh, thanks, mom. Bye.”

 

She mimes cutting off the phone and starts to turn to Frank. She freezes when she feels his hands on her shoulders. It’s a gentle touch, but an unwanted one. The man sighs.

 

“French, huh? I figured. You know I’ve always wanted a little French girl to wander into my home.” She feels his breath on her ear and tries not to shiver. “I have a bit of a thing about foreign girls…”

 

Giselle slips her free hand in her pocket, gripping the handle of her knife. Not yet. Not yet. Luke can’t possibly hear him. He’s not close enough to back her up. She stomachs the rising disgust in her. His hands move down her arms. He hums.

 

“And you’re just so _pretty_.” Frank’s hands move to her back, sliding slowly down to her ass. Her arms are free. “How long do you think your mother will be.”

 

Giselle forces a smile, her grip on the knife tightening. “Long enough.” 

 

Before he can say anything, she whips around, slashing at his chest. She gets his biceps more, however, as gashes open up in them and her knife tears through his grimy shirt. He shouts and looks at her in shock.

 

“What the _fuck_?”

 

She shifts her stance, ready to stab at Frank, to end this. There’s a sudden pressure against her throat and she’s slammed into the wall before she can even think to do so. The phone clatters out of her hand. She tries to cry out, tries to get Luke’s attention, but no sound comes out. The man is red with fury, both hands around her throat.

 

In a flash she’s eleven years old again. Her father’s large hand pinning her to a wall by her throat. He’s yelling at her for dropping a plate of cookies in the living room. It was an accident. He doesn’t care. He’s been drinking again. Mother isn’t here to save her. What can she do? She’s too small, too weak to fight back. She doesn’t know how.

 

Except…

 

 _Now_ she is.

 

With all the strength she can gather, she kicks him hard between the legs. He drops her, and they both fall: him to his knees in agony and her sliding down the wall gasping for air. The knife is still clutched in her hands. She’s done this before. She can do this again. She won’t be harmed. Not again. He has no power over her.

 

She dives towards him, knocking him on his back. He doesn’t stand a chance, not with his bleeding arms preoccupied as they are. With a cry, Giselle thrusts the knife into his belly, right between his wrists. He jerks beneath her. Crackles sounds come from the discarded phone, a familiar voice calls her name. She ignores it. 

 

She stabs him again. And again. And again. Her arms start to burn and she keeps going. Her face feels wet. She keeps stabbing, even as he goes still. She hears sobbing, distant cries. All she can see is red. There’s a crash somewhere, and something grabs her, wrapping her tight in strong arms. It pulls her away from him and she fights it, trying to keep stabbing and slashing at him. But it holds her tight enough to keep her arms to her sides. Her knife falls from her hands.

 

Cold hits her like a slap in the face. She thinks she hears her name, lost somewhere in the pounding of her ears and the endless sobs. She keeps fighting, kicking and struggling. It stumbles, but doesn’t let her go. It just keeps dragging her away. 

 

It gets hard to breathe, something’s making it hard to breathe. As everything starts to go quiet, black. She places the crying.

 

Giselle’s the one sobbing.

 

 

 

She drifts in and out of the darkness. Sometimes there’s voices, sometimes there’s silence. She feels a gentle hand on her in some moments and others it feels like there’s nothing around her but air. How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? _Days_? She longs for an anchor. She wants out of the darkness. There’s been enough of it for her lifetime. 

 

She wants back to the house, back to Lily and Mark. And… even Luke. Her new family. Her father is dead. He’s gone. He can’t hurt her anymore. That man wasn’t her father. He was someone else. Someone just as wretched and despicable. Someone just as dead. Why is she still afraid, then? 

 

She can’t be afraid anymore. She can’t. 

 

Something takes her hand, something warm. She squeezes it, or, tries to. There’s a soft laugh. And everything goes black once more.

 

 

 

Giselle blinks, staring up at the off-white ceiling above her. It’s quiet and dim. Her eyes burn, an after effect of hysterical crying. Her muscles ache, but dully. Something she can ignore. She turns her head, taking in where she is. 

 

It’s the motel, the one she, Mark, and Luke had taken up in for their task. She’s tucked into one of the beds. The other sits empty. So… she can’t have been here for more than two or three days. They are to linger for four days, to avoid suspicion, but Luke’s clothes are strewn about the other bed, and other trinkets lie on the table. He’s in no rush, so they must have plenty of time left. 

 

There’s a soft sigh to her left, and she turns her head.

 

Luke is dozing in a chair a few feet from the bed, up against the wall. He looks awful. His hair is mussed and on the verge of greasy. There are shadows under his eyes, and his precious clothes are lined and crumpled. In fact, they look like the clothes he’d worn the night of the murder. The way he sits in the chair seems uncomfortable for sleep. She looks around. There’s no sign of Mark. 

 

Giselle pushes herself up with a groan, her muscles screaming their disapproval. She holds the position, letting her body readjust. She has to get up; her stomach is gnawing itself in hunger, and she wants to get a hot shower to relax her body. She turns to climb out of bed, and nearly crashes right into Luke. 

 

“Don’t get up,” he grunts, gently pushing her to sit back down. 

 

She glares at him as he crosses the room, grabbing a water bottle and a sandwich. He hands them both to her and sits back down. Giselle defiantly sticks her chin out at him. He simply stares back. Neither of them say anything. Her stomach growls again, and she opens the sandwich, grumbling. When she looks up again, Luke is grinning.

 

“What are you smiling about?”

 

Luke shakes his head. “Just… happy to see you’re awake.”

 

Giselle raises an eyebrow. Luke? Happy about _her_? She pushes the thought back and takes a bite out of the sandwich. It’s simple—peanut butter and jelly—but it tastes better than anything she’s had in a while. She savors the bite before swallowing it.

 

“Where’s Mark?”

 

“He’s taking care of our friend for us. Making sure he’s hard to find. I stayed here with you.”

 

Giselle nods, taking another bite of food. It’s quiet. Luke waits for her. They’ve never had a comfortable silence. But this one definitely meets the definition. It’s odd, seeing him watch her so closely. But it’s comforting, like having him behind her was at the man’s house.

 

“Luke,” she says softly, once she’s swallowed again. “What… what happened?”

 

Luke taps his chin thoughtfully. She knows most of it, obviously. Everything she did. She remembers it in bits and pieces, but they create the same picture. She wants to know what Luke saw. What he did. He takes a deep breath.

 

“I was listening. Waiting for your signal. I guess you dropped the phone, but I… I’m sorry, I didn’t think anything of it.” Giselle stares at him. Did he just… _apologize_? She doesn’t mock him. She wants to hear more. “Anyway, When I heard you scream, and you didn’t answer me, I ran in to help you.” His brows draw together, furrowed as he goes over what he saw. She shrinks. Was it so terrible? “You were crying. Stabbing him over and over. He was already dead, and you were out of your mind. So I grabbed you. Got you out of there.”

 

“I remember that.” The arms that encircled her were his. Warm and strong. Keeping her from hurting herself. 

 

Luke nods. “I called Mark, told him what happened. I drove you back here and Mark changed your clothes and cleaned you up while I went back to secure the area.”

 

Giselle looks down at the mention of clothes. She hadn’t noticed that she’s in something different. The shirt and pants are far too large on her. She recognizes them. They’re Luke’s pajamas. She can almost picture it: Luke commanding Mark to take care of her, ripping his clothes out of his bag and tossing them to Mark before storming out. A warmth spread through her chest. This isn’t the Luke she’s used to. 

 

“You’ve been out for most of the last two days. I was about to get worried.”

 

“Does… does mother know about this?” 

 

Giselle can’t be seen as weak. She can’t. If Lily thinks she can’t be a part of these tasks, she could kick her out. Or worse. She tries not to give Luke pleading looks. Thankfully, he shakes his head. 

 

“No. I kept it from her. Told her you were out or sleeping every time she called.”

 

“Why?” She speaks before she can stop herself. She hadn’t wanted to ask, didn’t want to find out what twisted reason he has to be nice to her, finally. She’s not told him, but she’s tired of fighting all the time. Tired of only having Mark for a friend. Does he feel the same? “Why did you do all this?”

 

Luke’s eyes turn to the ceiling and he purses his lips. It’s strangely attractive. Giselle munches more of her sandwich, watching him closely. He finally sighs and looks back at her.

 

“Giselle… Your dad… Did he ever hurt you?”

 

She stiffens, eyes widening. “What… what do you mean?”

 

“I think you know.”

 

Giselle stares at him. He looks weary, but she knows he’s stubborn. He won’t back down. She also sees something else… something like… understanding? Does he know what she’s been through, or something like it? She bites her lip.

 

“Yes. Yes he did. For years. He was a drunk.”

 

Luke simply nods, scratching at the weak stubble along his jaw. “Is that why you killed him? To save yourself?”

 

“I…” That _is_ why she did it, right? To escape, to be free? Of course. _Of course_. He would have killed her otherwise. “Yes. I was young, and scared. I just wanted to be brave.”

 

He nods again and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. It’s quiet again. Giselle finishes off her sandwich and breaks into her water. She almost spills it when he speaks again.

 

“Mark was abused too,” he almost whispers, looking at the ground. “A lot of Mother’s boyfriends were like Frank. Toads, waiting to be squashed. And one of them hurt my brother.”

 

Giselle finally understands why she always sparred with Luke. Why Mark always pulled away during their cooking lessons. Why she’d always gotten the vibe from the both of them that she wasn’t to touch Mark. No one touches Mark unless Mark lets them because someone _did_ touch him. Her heart aches. Mark, the sweetest of them all, being hurt by someone he probably wanted to trust sits uneasily with her. 

 

Now, Luke’s unusual kindness is clear. He remembers what it’s like to care for someone who’s been through something terrible. He knows to help them first and deal with everything else later. He knows to let them sleep and have food for them and keep an eye on them. And now that he also understands her, he gave her the same treatment. He sighs and rubs his eyes. 

 

“I shouldn’t have said all those things to you. About your father.”

 

“You didn’t know.”

 

“But I should have guessed. You’re just stronger than I thought.”

 

She wonders what that means, but her thoughts are interrupted by a loud yawn from the young man. They pause, unsure what to do with the weight of what they’d just discussed between them. A giggle bubbles up from Giselle, and she covers her mouth in shock. Luke laughs himself, and soon both of them are laughing.

 

Once they finally calm, wiping tears from their eyes, Giselle stands with another groan.

 

“I’m going to take a hot shower,” she declares. Luke grins up at her. She looks at him. Really looks at him. He always had come off as an arrogant jerk. But she understands now. He cares, he does. And when he cares about you, he’ll actually show it. And she’s finally part of that circle. She smiles softly as she leans down and presses a kiss to his temple. “You should get some sleep. You look _awful_.”

 

Luke looks at her with some shock and something else. Something like _awe._ He blinks it away and scoffs.

 

“I would, but I don’t have pajamas. Someone’s wearing them.”

 

“Oh? You could always wear mine until they give them back.”

 

Luke snorts. “I don’t think I could pull that one off. I’ll figure something out.” He grins up at her. “Besides, I think that someone looks _very_ good in my clothes.”

 

Giselle rolls her eyes and limps into the bathroom. When she emerges twenty minutes later, back in Luke’s loose clothes and towel-drying her hair, she finds the older twin fast asleep, flopped across his and Mark’s bed. She smiles and creeps over. He looks boyish when he sleeps, and, dare she say it, cute. She sits beside him and brushes her fingers lightly through his hair. He sighs sleepily and shifts into her touch.

 

Mark finds them like that when he arrives with bags of hot food. Giselle looks at him, holding a finger to her lips. He stares at them, eyes wide with shock, for far longer than she’d expect. She smiles at him, wanting to laugh. He relaxes and smiles himself, placing the food on the table. She carefully gets up and joins him.

 

“So,” he starts. “It looks like you two are _finally_ getting along.”

 

“You never told me Luke is _nice_.” She helps him unpack the food, practically salivating over it. 

 

“Oh, he’d have killed me if I had. Wouldn’t want me to ruin his reputation. Wanna tell me what happened?”

 

Giselle looks back at the sleeping young man. He holds so much responsibility for his age: taking care of his brother, his mother, helping with plans and keeping himself in top condition for his mother’s chores, keeping Mark’s secret… and now keeping hers and taking care of her. She’ll tell Mark eventually. It’s been a long day, and she’s ready for food. She smiles at him.

 

“We just came to an understanding, is all. Now come on, tell me what’s mine. I’m starving.”

 

 

 

Lily is thrilled when they return. She embraces Giselle and tells her how proud she is. They make a huge meal together, and eat while trading stories and smiles. Giselle found herself happier than she’d ever been. More than once she and Luke traded jokes or laughed or smiled at each other. Lily looked at them curiously, but looked pleased all the same. All her children are happy, and no matter what the reason, she’s happy about it. 

 

When they head to bed, they trade good nights. Luke catches Giselle before she heads into her room. His hand is warm on her wrist. She’d be willing to let him hold onto it, if she were being honest.

 

“Well, sweet dreams, Giselle. I’m sure they’ll all be of me. We won’t be in the same room again tonight and I know you’ll miss me.”

 

“Oh, God,” Giselle sighs, rolling her eyes. “You’re an idiot, Luke.”

 

He grins at her, smug as ever. “Ah, but you love me! You know you do!”

 

“Sure, why not.” She smiles at him. “Goodnight, mon frère.”

 

He laughs. “Goodnight, ma sœur.”

 

Giselle goes to bed fully content. Finally. She’s got Lily. Mark. And now, Luke. Luke, who was secretly wonderful, knew more about her than anyone on earth, and was ready to treat her like he treats his twin brother. Special. She can even see them becoming best friends one day, maybe. And how perfect would that be? 

 

Turns out, she does dream of him. But she’d never admit that to him. He has enough to keep his ego afloat.

 

The idiot.

 


End file.
